


you build a wall, i'll build a ladder

by darkspur



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos has a tattoo, Childhood Memories, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkspur/pseuds/darkspur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after episode 25. Carlos didn't escape unscathed from the underground city, and Cecil gets his first look into the scientist's private life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you build a wall, i'll build a ladder

_“But the sky behind those lights—mostly void, partially stars—that sky reminds us that we don’t understand even more. Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.”_

The ON AIR sign darkened and Cecil leaned back in his chair and removed his headphones. The emotion that had been pumping through his veins was beginning to subside, though he still couldn’t wipe the silly grin from his face. After his heart rate dropped to a reasonable beat, he stood to leave for home when his eyes landed on the trophy. _The trophy!_ He snatched it up and bolted for the door. The party was certainly off, as Night Vale was arming itself against the legions of tiny people, but he could still give the trophy to Carlos. It seemed more substantial in his hand than it had before, weighted down with all the strife and elation of the last half hour. Maybe he could catch Carlos before he left the Arby’s parking lot.

The evening air was as warm and delicious as it had been minutes before. Cecil covered the pavement in lengthy strides and was relieved to see Carlos leaning against his car underneath the neon sign. Cecil slowed to a walk, hoping the other man hadn’t noticed him sprinting towards him like an idiot. Carlos only arched a perfect, curious eyebrow as the radio host neared.

“So,” Cecil said as nonchalantly as he could while trying to catch his breath through his nose.

“So?” Carlos returned, bemused. Cecil suddenly felt a fool for reaching back into this moment. Stupid. He should have just waited until tomorrow, left the trophy on Carlos’s doorstep with a little note.

“I just…” he trailed off. Carlos’ small grin widened. Radio-Cecil was so eloquent and self-assured, but Real-Life, Flustered, Breathless Cecil was just, well, _cute_. 

Cecil thrust the trophy into Carlos’ hands. “I just wanted you to have this.”

Carlos looked confused. “What about the party? I was going to stop at home and then head over.”

“Carlos—” there was that matter-of-fact tone. The one Cecil used when explaining the simple rules of life in Night Vale. “Carlos, Night Vale is under siege. Social gatherings of four or more humanoids are strictly forbidden as we are all part of the citizen militia. It’s all in your community handbook.”

“Right,” Carlos grinned—God, that smile—and leaned forward to stand up straight. He sucked in a breath and his free hand went to his left side. In the violet light, Cecil could make out the square form of gauze padding under the red plaid shirt. He stepped forward anxiously.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

Carlos smiled again, though it was tinged with pain. “I’m fine,” he said. He withdrew his hand to find blood on his palm. “…no, I’m not,” he corrected.

Cecil’s voice was firm now. He guided Carlos to the passenger door. “Get in. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” The response was so unexpectedly adamant that Cecil jumped. “No, sorry,” Carlos said. “But Night Vale General isn’t exactly what I’d call medically adept.”

“But they have the most efficient warlocks staffing the ER twenty-four hours a day now!” Cecil insisted. “Only three fatal rituals in the past year!”

Carlos looked at him pointedly, and he sighed. “Okay,” Cecil said. “Let me take you home, at least.”

Carlos agreed and they ducked inside the car. After Carlos instructed Cecil on how to start the vehicle (non-Night Vale cars used keys instead of Latin incantations to get going, apparently) they were on their way. The stereo was droning quietly and Cecil noticed that it was tuned to Night Vale Community Radio. He still felt a little thrill every time he imagined Carlos listening to his show. He glanced over at the other man, who was holding his side with one hand and his trophy with the other. He was gazing at it fondly, and Cecil smiled, but he didn’t interrupt the quiet between them (which was interspersed with garbling sounds from the evening’s episode of “Open Mouthed Chewing”).

“Thank you for the trophy,” Carlos said at last. “And the party that never was. Though I don’t know who else would have come.”

“What do you mean?” Cecil asked. He looked at his companion, who was slouched in his seat, running his thumb over the words engraved in the base of the trophy (ONE YEAR IN NIGHT VALE. CARLOS THE SCIENTIST—THE BEST WE EVER HAD!)

“Well, you’re the only person I _know_ here, Cecil. You and my assistants, if they stick around long enough for me to get to know them.”

The evanescence of Carlos’ lab assistants had never really troubled Cecil, but now that he thought about it, they did seem to pack up and leave as often as NVCR misplaced its interns. But that was different. Cecil’s home was Night Vale. He wasn’t reliant on the station interns to provide him with sense of familiarity and security. But Carlos, poor Carlos, was adrift in the desert without a single guiding star to stir his thoughts of home. 

“But people here really like you, Carlos,” Cecil said. “You’re the Scientist! You’ve done so much for us in one year…I mean, just staying for that long is an achievement in and of itself.” He deliberated before he quietly asked, “Why haven’t you left, anyway?”

“Oh, a place like this, a mind like mine, I couldn’t possibly leave it alone. Night Vale is the greatest riddle the world has never heard of, and I intend to solve it.” Carlos smiled, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew, he _had_ to know that Night Vale had no answer, because there was never a question. It just was, and existed without rules and borders and time. The real reason for Carlos’ stay unwound slow and cold in Cecil’s gut.

_Because there’s nothing to go back to._

Before Cecil could gather himself and assemble a response, Carlos pointed at Big Rico’s, trophy in hand.

“Right across the street from there,” he said. “I’ve got the apartment above the lab.”

Cecil pulled into the small, empty lot and took the space closest to the wooden stairs that climbed up the side of the building. He slid out of the driver’s seat and ran around to the passenger side to help Carlos.

“I’m all right,” Carlos said, but his fingers still tightened around Cecil’s as he pulled himself up. He led the way up the creaky, weather-beaten steps, shoulders hunched, hand at his side. He seemed winded by the time they reached the second floor. He fished his keys from his pocket and stepped inside the dark entryway. Cecil hesitated. 

“You can come in,” Carlos said. He looked down at his side and peeked at his palm, which was slick with blood now. “I…I might need help.”

Cecil nodded and crossed the threshold. Carlos opened a second unlocked door that led inside the apartment. He flipped on the lights.

“Sorry the place is kind of messy,” Carlos said. Yesterday’s dishes sat unwashed in the sink rack, and coffee rings and stacks of statistical reports decorated the table. The kitchen merged into the living room, divided only by a sagging couch which sat before a dusty TV set.

“Bathroom’s over here.” Carlos went to the right and Cecil followed. At the end of the hall was the bedroom door, which sat slightly ajar. Cecil caught a faint, sour scent of marijuana before he followed Carlos into the tiny bathroom. He hovered in the doorway as Carlos stood with his back to the sink and unbuttoned his flannel. Any jolt of pleasure at the sight was muted by the suffocating sadness of the place. Cecil longed to reach out and embrace Carlos, to breathe his affections into his skin, but he resisted. _Slowly_ , he told himself as Carlos pulled of his shirt to reveal a soaked gauze pad. _Slowly._

“Shit,” Carlos laughed weakly.

“May I…?” Cecil asked. Carlos nodded and Cecil closed the gap between them. His sleeves were already rolled to his mid-forearm so he didn’t hesitate. His long fingers carefully pried away the tape and he peeked underneath the padding. A long, jagged cut sat near Carlos’ lower ribs, running several inches onto his back. Carlos craned his neck to see.

“Teddy Williams didn’t try to fix this?” Cecil asked.

“When I came to, he was drawing runes on the floor in my own blood, so I got out of there. I had a medical kit in my car, because, well, I guess this kind of thing is normal now.”

“That was just a standard flesh-replicating spell,” Cecil said.

“Yeah, didn’t want to risk it.” Carlos lifted his left arm to try to get a better look at the wound, but most of it was out of his sight. He took a deep breath. “Have you ever sewn anything, Cecil?”

Cecil’s mouth went dry as he realized what was being asked of him. “I—I’ve sewn a few pairs of pants…” _With a sewing machine,_ he thought.

“Okay, I just…I can’t even see most of it, so there’s no way I could do it myself…”

The yellow lights buzzed, and Cecil could just barely smell the lingering fumes in the next room. And he spoke earnestly.

“Whatever you need, Carlos.”

“Okay,” Carlos said again, and he began to apologize, but Cecil put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

Carlos peeled off the pad and grabbed a hand towel from the rack. He held a pained noise in his throat as he pressed it on the wound. “There’s a small sewing basket on the top shelf in the hall closet. There should also be some cotton rounds up there. Uh…” his voice wavered. “There’s some Jack Daniel’s in the cupboard next to the fridge. You should clean your hands while you’re out there, and bring a towel for them, too.”

Cecil ducked into the hall. When he returned, Carlos was dousing a clean corner of the towel in rubbing alcohol. Cecil couldn’t help himself from glancing at the open medicine cabinet: two prescription pill bottles, a razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, paste, and a comb. Carlos backed closer to the sink to let Cecil through.

“You sit,” he said, gesturing at the toilet. “It’ll be easiest if I stand.”

“You sure?” Cecil asked as he sidled past. 

Carlos nodded. “Otherwise the skin could misalign.”

“Here—” Cecil put down the things and reached for the towel in Carlos’ hand. Carlos obliged and turned to face the mirror. He closed the cabinet before gripping either side of the basin. 

Cecil draped the wet cloth over his hand and began cleaning the area. Carlos hissed behind clenched teeth and tensed. The muscles of his torso shifted beneath Cecil’s fingers. He swallowed.

“You don’t have any pain killers?” he asked. Carlos was silent but shook his head. After a few more swipes Cecil straightened and handed Carlos the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Carlos opened it and took a generous swig. As he moved, a geometrical splash of black, red, and blue on his right shoulder blade caught Cecil’s eye.

“You have a tattoo,” he observed as Carlos set the bottle next to the faucet.

“Just something stupid I did during undergrad,” Carlos said, then hastily added, “Not that I think tattoos in general are stupid, I mean yours are great—”

Cecil chuckled as he opened the sewing kit. Carlos selected the appropriate needle and a sturdy black thread.

“What is it?” Cecil asked as he sanitized the needle. He willed his hands to stop trembling. “Your tattoo, I mean. It’s like a chemical compound, right?”

Carlos managed a taut grin. “It’s serotonin,” he said.

The word summoned Cecil’s abandoned childhood memories of sitting in grown-up waiting rooms, being shown tree-like diagrams of the sick forests in his brain, and the quiet voices when the doctors thought he was out of earshot. _We’re sorry, Mrs. Baldwin, he’s just a very troubled boy._

“I think it’s neat,” Cecil said. Goddamn it— _neat_. Why did his flustered brain always default to that word?

“Not near as interesting as yours,” Carlos said. He gasped quietly when Cecil inserted the needle.

“Oh, these?” Cecil didn’t spare the Tyrian purple symbols on his arms a glance. He hoped his voice didn’t betray his anxiety. _Don’t let me hurt him, please, please._ “I just woke up with them one day when I was about twelve. Started small and simple but just kept growing.” 

“Oh,” Carlos echoed, as it if that was completely normal. But Cecil knew it wasn’t, not to him. Growing up in Night Vale didn’t make Cecil blind to its arbitrary mechanisms. It was what had perplexed him so much as a child—a desire for order, for reason and safety amidst the utter chaos. He’d even tried to run away from it once when he was eight but only made it as far as Desert Bluffs, and…well, he didn’t want to think about what he saw there, not even now. He hid under his covers, afraid to go to school, afraid to even walk outside and see what inexplicable shade the sky was today, or if the grass had been replaced by tiny razor blades. _Just stop thinking about it,_ his parents told him. _Stop asking questions._ And eventually he did.

But then came Carlos, the man full of questions and ideas and equations and stars. The man Cecil could have been, had he not been wrapped in quaking doubt and fear.

“Truth be told,” he said, “I’m afraid of needles.”

“Sorry to put you through this, then,” Carlos said.

“No, I mean, needles touching me. Breaking my skin.” Carlos inhaled sharply. “Sorry,” Cecil blurted. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t help.”

“No, it’s fine, you’re doing fine.” Carlos’ voice was tight. Cecil watched as he took another drink of whiskey under the yellow light. And everything about him was perfect.

Cecil would tell him. Someday. How Carlos awakened what had been doctored out of him, how he made Cecil more like himself. But not tonight. _Lightly,_ he reminded himself as he wove the black thread through Carlos’ skin. _Lightly._

\---

Nearly an hour and three swigs of Jack Daniel’s later, Carlos’ white-knuckled grip on the sink buckled.

“Can we stop for a moment?” he asked shakily. Cecil could feel all the pain stirring under his skin, could hear it in his voice.

“I’m almost done,” Cecil said softly. “Count to five.”

Carlos couldn’t speak, so Cecil did.

“One, two…”

“ _Cecil_ —” his voice was pleading.

“…three…four…five.” Cecil snipped the threads and knotted them carefully. He sanitized the area one last time. “Done.”

Still bent over the sink, Carlos exhaled slowly through his nose. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Cecil wiped his hands clean and stood. Carlos straightened gingerly.

“I just realized I’ve left you without a ride,” he said.

Cecil had thought of this as he worked, but said nothing of it. He would certainly stay if Carlos asked him to, but he wouldn’t push it. The man had finally returned his affections, after one long year. If Carlos wanted to take things slow, he could wait. He would always wait. Soon enough, the walls would come down. So he waved his hand. “It’s okay, I still have to take my mandatory night stroll for this week.” He frowned. “You _have_ been taking those, right?”

Carlos smiled. A beautiful, painless smile. “Yes, just like you said.”

Cecil’s heart dropped to his stomach and fluttered there, nervous and trapped.

“Let me walk you to the door, at least,” Carlos said. He picked his flannel from the towel rack and pulled it on carefully. He fastened half of the buttons as they walked but seemed to forget the rest when Cecil let the cool dark air breeze through the open door. 

Cecil stepped out and Carlos stood in the frame, just inches away from him, his perfect chest partially exposed. Cecil thought his heart might actually hammer its way out of his body (a silly thought, since that hadn’t happened to anyone in Night Vale since 1976, which was an unfortunate year for lovers).

“I’ll call you,” Carlos said. Cecil nodded. His tongue was filling up his mouth. Then, before Cecil could remind himself how to breathe, Carlos reached out and cupped Cecil’s face in his hand, leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight, Cecil.”

“G—goodnight.” A wide grin spread across Cecil’s face. He turned and practically leapt down the steps. “Goodnight, Carlos!” he cried. And this time he didn’t care if Carlos saw him running into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I was really tempted to put a proper kiss at the end, but decided against it because their first canon kiss is just too cute. Comments/critiques are welcome!  
> And apparently "You Build A Wall, I'll Build A Ladder" is also the title of an Abandon Kansas record that I haven't picked up for years--oops. So this isn't really a songfic, but the lyrics of tracks 2 and 3 are applicable if you want to give them a listen, or just look them up.


End file.
